


Exchange

by Davechicken



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Light Bondage, Light Masochism, M/M, Switch Relationship, misuse of magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:35:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26949082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: After the initial battle-rush... Dorian and Bull learn there's other ways to enjoy one another's company, too.
Relationships: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 2
Kudos: 53





	Exchange

Dorian likes it when Bull is more… aggressive? No, that’s not quite right. More dominant? Perhaps. It isn’t truly dangerous, and it certainly isn’t violent in any way you could be frightened of. It’s when he’s using his size and strength to best advantage. 

Like, when he folds Dorian into almost impossible shapes, or rams into him so hard he can nearly taste the Fade. The first time he put those large hands around Dorian’s throat, the knowledge that he could choke the very like out of him… he _wouldn’t_ , but he could… powerful, powerful hands that did nothing but hold him safe and thumbs that could puncture his carotid and chose to follow the sinews and lines of his anatomy, caressing…

Dorian always comes like a dragon charging into battle when it’s like that. Helpless on the waves of his passion, eager and gleeful and only slightly afraid in that frisson way that is the same as surviving a good, hard fight.

Which, damn him, means he understands why Bull is always eager to run headlong into a good, hard fight. And means Dorian’s body is starting to respond to them in the same way. And means that after a battle, both of them are now cued each time, and it’s simply a matter of the next acceptable window before they’re mutually celebrating their continued living status by thrusting, grinding, rubbing, sucking… whatever. 

Damn beast has conditioned him. Taught him to be just like him. Or maybe found the thread in him that needed tugging, to get him unravelled enough to fit. 

Yes.

Dorian likes that. He likes pushing Bull to use him so hard it might leave marks, but only where it won’t show. He likes scratching his nails into skin and grabbing those horns (which Bull **loves** ), and he likes it when the room barely escapes alive. He feels… he feels… vibrant. He feels elated to exist. And he feels… wanted. Truly, truly wanted.

But.

It isn’t always what he wants, or what Bull wants. 

The first time it was different was one morning. Dorian had resolutely refused to allow anything to stay soft by upping the ante each time. But Bull caught him on the cusp of sleep, and his hand was caring, slow, and steady. Dorian had been a little tender from the night before, and cursing himself for allowing himself to fall asleep… and then that eye caught his and he saw…

He saw something different. Not battle-lust and not conquest. Something he’d known was there, but fought to deny.

And he’s spilt over the other’s hand just knowing it was.

Bull… augh! Bull wanted other things, too. And now Dorian had no way to pretend he didn’t know, even as he sleepily, dozily wiped the spend onto his hand, slicked the other’s cock, and pretended the way he rode it was just as fierce and nothing like tender, as arms wrapped around him and lips pressed into his neck.

He likes it both ways. Dorian. He can’t deny that. He can’t say he doesn’t, when his body and his heart scream for it. 

Which is why he is doing this, even though he has so many butterflies in his stomach that he could fill the room if you slit his chest open. 

It’s just… it’s for fun, okay? Mutual fun. It’s not because he’s agonised over this for weeks. It’s not because he craves the tender smiles and longing looks. It’s just.

Fun. 

And it’s because it’s about time Bull remembered he isn’t the only powerful one in this relationship.

The silken scarves Dorian wraps around those wrists and ankles are dainty, pretty things. They wouldn’t hold the Iron Bull down if he sneezed particularly hard, but the point is made when the other man submits to having them tied. 

Dorian admires the dichotomy. Bulky muscles, dainty fabrics. The way that society has bound them both up in roles. The way that everything means something else, if you look close enough.

He murmurs softly as his fingers spin magic into the threads, turning the gentle restraint into one that can’t be shattered. Not without his consent, or - well - death. Bull is bound, trussed, and displayed for his enjoyment.

And Bull _clearly_ likes it. He’s wearing a very simple loin-cloth, eye-patch, and nothing else. But the cloth does nothing to hide the rising interest, and his nipples perk like arrowheads, and a roll of shoulders goes down his spine, into his groin, and ends somewhere below his calves. 

“Beautiful,” Dorian whispers.

Bull is often called things by people. Some flattering, some less so. But this particular word, said like that… it makes the skin around his upper chest darken, makes the muscles of his shoulders bunch. Handsome, yes. Powerful, attractive, fierce… active, masculine words. He doesn’t react to those.

Beautiful. Dorian uses it sparingly, and wisely. Because he is, and he can be, and he _is_.

The mage lets his eyes graze over planes and dips, into scars and over old memories. Some of these he was there for. Some of these he bandaged up, after Bull celebrated being alive despite them. He lets one finger slide over a hip-bone.

“I thought I lost you, that time,” he admits, his fingers lingering.

“Take more than that to stop me,” Bull huffs, but it’s covering over the other tone in his voice. 

Somehow, it’s hard for the Bull to accept Dorian actually _does_ want him around. And alive. Which is ridiculous, when Dorian feels the same way, but they have their demons (not literally) and they just… have to try to shut them out, and fight for this, instead.

Dorian lowers his lips to kiss the scar, letting his facial hair tickle around the edges, feeling the way Bull’s belly pulls in at the sensation. He grins, and slides his hand next up the inside of his thigh, kneading at the muscles, but not going where Bull really wants him to.

“Realised I needed to take better care of you, then,” he says, avoiding his eye because it’s hard to be honest. Really honest. “It was clear you needed it.”

Bull laughs, but it’s strained, and his wrists tug, shaking the posts of the bed just a little. It’s the weak spot, and they both know. He wouldn’t leave Bull with no way out at all, it wouldn’t be safe. All he has to do is splinter the wood and he’s free. At least, of the bed. He’d still have silken cuffs to contend with, magically tightening around his wrists and ankles. 

“You didn’t notice the bloody Darkspawn on your right,” Bull crows, or defends, or both. 

“Good thing I had you, then.”

He lets the lips part enough to allow his tongue into the rivulet, as his hands move to gently hold on to Bull’s waist for balance. He can feel and hear each change in breathing pattern, and he is perfectly aware of the erection only inches away from his face. 

He ignores it. Moves up, to whisper his attention over other places. Places that hurt because Bull was defending him, or the few places he’s inflicted on the man at his own request or insistence. 

Bull likes more pain than Dorian, It’s not something he fully understands, or… he understands, but doesn’t feel the same… but he’s done it, when Bull needed it. As safely as he could, as little as he could. If it’s what Bull needs…

Little, kitten-laps around one areola, tugging at softer skin, nuzzling into his chest. Normally, Bull would have a massive hand around the back of his head now, conveying just how much he needs and where. Without it, Dorian is forced to rely solely on sounds, movements, and the way Bull’s heel scratches into the sheets and use those to guide his movements. 

Bull groans, full-throat, and swears in tongues Dorian only knows from him, and not any text book or tutor. 

Dorian smiles, and moves up to the exposed throat, feeling it hum beneath his mouth as his fingers rake lightly under the man’s jaw. 

Bull is impatient, but holding. He wants to move, but Dorian knows it’s not the inability to control that’s driving him crazy. It’s the fact he’s the centre of attention, and isn’t… giving back. Being wanted, being looked after… it’s something they’re learning to accept, together. 

Together. Yes. It’s a new concept, in the more-than-fucking meaning, but it’s becoming… clearer and clearer. The way Dorian’s chest hurts at the concept… he sweeps his hands up over Bull’s face, and the fingers rest over the proud swoop of his horns, his palms hot against his face, and their gaze locking. 

This. This bit is the real fight and conquest. Staring across all the gaps between them, and destroying them. Staring past all the fears that hang in the air, or claw at them, and saying… no. This. Him. Us. Yes.

It is a fight, but it isn’t against one another. It’s against everything else, and they’re the ones wielding each other as weapon and shield. Dorian knows, and smiles, and waits for the tiniest of nods before he lowers his lips to kiss the Bull’s, and they say all those things they never really say. Teeth, tongue, wet sounds and the whole of the pain in his chest and gut. 

They kiss for what feels like forever, and the arms that can’t hold him strain in protest. Dorian wants them, but he wants to… give something, first. Give him the reassurance that he matters, and is safe, and that Dorian wants only to care for him, and… that he can let go.

And be protected. Safe. **Loved**. That he doesn’t need to be the shield all the time.

Dorian sways his way down Bull’s frame, and lets skin touch skin as he does. He settles between his lover’s thighs, and pushes them that final bit wider apart to give him space. 

Bull’s ass clenches, clearly fighting the inner need to charge. Dorian brushes down to the cleft between his buttocks, then rips the skimpy clothing off, in a show that Bull isn’t the only barbarian capable of stripping his helpless lover down to nothing.

Warm salve to ease his fingers in, over the squirming and the thrusting. Little, nearly-dry kisses and licks and laps to the heavy balls and cock that salute him readily. Still so impressive, and probably always will be a little intimidating. Dorian had never expected when he realised he was only interested in men that he’d be interested - and sworn to - such a.... healthy specimen of one. 

Two fingers inside, and a thumb that rubs along the taint below his balls. Bull grunts and ruts as much as he can, bouncing on those fingers and then thrusting at the lips near his shaft. He wants more friction, more everything, and Dorian is giddy with the power he holds.

“Dorian!”

“Soon, my dear. Soon, amatus.”

Has he used that before? Surely he has. Apparently not, if the keening noise and groaning bed is anything to go by. He should use it more, because Bull’s ass clenches over his fingers needily, and his cock is leaking and he’s… he’s… a wreck. No real force or speed or pressure, and he’s falling apart from the faintest gestures.

“ _Please_!” he chokes out, sounding smaller and needier than Dorian remembers him ever sounding.

“Don’t worry, my dear Iron Bull, I will make sure you are taken care of.”

Four fingers shunt inside of him, as Dorian uses the other to knead at his sac, while he opens his mouth as wide as he can to drop down over as much of the shaft as he can fit in. It’s leaking already, desperate for attention, and he’s suddenly wondering if Bull could snap his fucking neck if he thrusted up too hard. 

Probably.

But he wouldn’t.

Dorian suckles and squirms and stretches and slickens. He enjoys the taste, the noises, and the power he’s been given over this magnificent creature. So strong, so smart… and filled with more love than he’d ever dare to fully admit to anyone else. 

He goes as long as he dares, before he decides it’s time for something else. 

He isn’t as girthy as Bull is, and sometimes he worries he’s not… big enough… but when he loosens the ankle restraints, Bull’s legs immediately welcome him in. He’s panting and squirming, and lifting his rear in open invitation. Dorian takes it, holding his hips for purchase as he sheathes himself to the hilt, groaning at the soft, wet welcome he receives. Bull’s ankles lock behind him, and Dorian starts to rut in earnest, chasing the pleasure he knows won’t be far off. 

Bull looks deliriously happy, his head dropped back and his fingers coiling and unfurling as he tries to push against each thrust. He doesn’t seem to mind that Dorian isn’t as endowed, not if the noises he makes are any indication. 

Dorian grabs for his cock, but not with his hands. A careful application of a power entirely non-physical, and Bull’s head whips up.

Magic encircles his shaft, and Dorian knows what it means when their gazes lock. 

Qunari don’t… have partners. So their vocabulary means something slightly different, but the word that falls between them… it’s heavy with all the meaning Bull has never been allowed to feel. Magic - that forbidden thing - splaying him open and ready to jerk every last droplet from him. 

Dorian is close, and so is Bull, and he hears the echoing promise in the oldest tongue Bull knows, as if he’s lost all other language, as if the only things he knows, now, are beyond it. 

The mage pushes knees almost into shoulders, working out his own tension right into the man below. Bull pleads, begs, and Dorian consents. The climax that rips through him and splatters them both leads to clenching, tightening, and Dorian is right there following him over, a wordless gasp as he spills his own lust into his lover’s body, the after-shocks enough to make every hair on his body stand on end. 

It’s.

Yes.

Dorian slows, still inside him for a moment, and lifts a hand to undo the first restraint.

“Don’t,” Bull murmurs, sleepily.

“Don’t?”

“Leave them a bit. Just…”

Dorian smiles, and carefully lowers himself onto Bull’s sticky belly, trapping his softening cock between them, and moving to curl up on his larger frame. He nuzzles at a fierce jawline, and lets the satisfaction of having done what Bull needed lap at him.

(Of course, he liked it very much, too. Oh so very much. He… likes being… _needed_. Being useful. Being…. No. No, that’s not really the whole truth… he likes it being _right_ , for both of them. That’s closer to it.)

No large arms envelop him like they usually do, but Dorian feels perfectly content as he snuggles in as closely as he can, kissing at Bull’s jaw, and feeling the ticking, clicking, cooling sensations as their bodies wind down. 

His cock against Bull’s, even though it’s a bit too sensitive really. He wriggles and preens to himself, and he has to hide his face in the other’s neck to conceal how widely he’s beaming. 

Little kisses. Little touches of noses. Deep, contented sighs. 

Dorian likes this Bull, too. Just as much.


End file.
